Her death bring hell
by Shadow Millennia -Sakura A
Summary: the mc death bring grief,pain and sadness toward the six prince and each one of them start to become crazy and their friendship destoryed. A single woman can bring hell to the world Credit goes to sapphirexoxo1412.
1. Chapter 1

**Her Death** ** : The Beginning**

"Where is she?!"

Prince Glenn, his chocolate brown hair deplete of its usual luminescence burst into the single occupancy room, his royal attire, still wet from the rain dripping relentlessly. There was perspiration evident on his forehead, accompanied by tell-tale trails of pained tears reminiscent upon his flawless skin. He solemnly scanned the room before him, ignoring the agonized gazes of the other three princes and affixed his eyes exclusively on her immobile exterior.

He quickly dashed over and succumbed to his knees, his chocolate grey irises scrutinizing every curve of her still form. Those lips, once rosy with effeminate grace were now deemed bloodless, her life force carried away by final autumn wind. Those eyes were once his favorite shade of violet, but were now concealed by the as if transparent skin of her eyelids…she radiated death, everything about her was hopeless, save for the weak, cadenced beating of her heart monitor and her ethereally shifting chest.

He cupped her hand in his and raised it softly to his own face. He wanted, so desperately wanted to shut his eyes in grief; but somehow, he couldn't. The combating senses of sorrow and the desire to savor what he knew could be her last moments were unbearable, rendering Glenn powerless. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to think except for the single, worthless action of encompassing her hands in his. How did this happen?

"Don't be overdramatic." Prince Roberto's voice was uncharacteristically cold as he leaned against the pale walls, his expression comprising of sadistic, almost mocking scintillations. Prince's Glenn's eyes immediately adverted into Roberto's, the latter laughed menacingly at the youngest royal,

"She's fine, you realize. Maybe you're the one who should stop overanalyzing things." he sneered, and watched in triumph as Glenn's expression contorted in contrite indignation. Truth be told, whether or not Roberto's words were lies of comfort, or a mechanism of defense he assembled to escape the cruel reality, he no longer knew. All he cared about at that moment was the sound of her heart monitor, the redundantly beating noise remained the only thing he heard.

The Altarian prince was the first who arrived at the hospital. The moment he had heard the dreadful news, his mind blurred into a nebulous swirl of voices and faces, the people who passed him no longer important as he ran breathlessly to her side. He couldn't bear to remember the heaviness in his heart at that terrible moment – when the doctors informed him that she would only survive under the most miraculous circumstances.

Only under the most miraculous circumstances. When the doctors left, he couldn't stop himself from grasping her barely conscious body, neither couldn't he contain the iridescent tears that shamelessly slid down his cheek as he tried to shake the remaining fragments of life out of her. Why? He had asked himself repeatedly, the manifestations of his sorrow no longer constrained within in his head. Why? Why did, once again, someone he truly cared about abandon him? He shook her body like a madman, but was greeted only with the quaking movements of her colorless curls. Why?

Why did they leave? Why do they all want to escape from him?

His thundering screams were finally silenced when Wilfred's calm arms pulled him back from his useless persuasion.

"Prince Roberto." The golden haired prince had enunciated with unnecessary clarity. Through his trembling fingers, Roberto could sense the paralleled desperation reflected in Wilfred's feigned nonchalance.

"We'll have to wait, there's still hope left." His whisper was barely audible as he leaned himself against the walls and closed his eyes. From then on, the Philippian prince remained remarkably still, the only evidence of his existence was his regal penumbra replicated against the horrifyingly white hospital sheets. Roberto slumped back, his liquid brown eyes faltering, his heart heavy with the weights of a thousand earths as he frantically tried to even his breath. This wasn't happening, he had continued to mouth to himself. This wasn't happening…

She couldn't be gone.

She wouldn't do that to them.

"Overanalyzing things?!" Roberto's relapse had rendered him completely vulnerable to Keith's approaching exasperation. Raising the unresponsive man before him on his opulent collar, the Libertian Prince hauled him up with one arm and glared at him vindictively, flaming emeralds to aversive brown, "How dare you speak of her like she's some worthless commoner!?" He bellowed, his commanding voice reverberating violently against the confined space before him. Roberto remained adjourned, incapably in air, but his eyes had nonetheless regained some of its previous fury as he stared Keith down,

"How ironic, Keithster." There was untainted amusement in Roberto's tone, his voice so enchanting that every being in that room shivered involuntarily. Prince Keith barely had the time to releases Roberto before the latter sized his wrists, his uncharacteristically sharp nails digging mercilessly into Keith's skin. "Weren't you the one who tortured her with the title 'commoner' when you first met her?" He innocently inclined his head, his ebullient eyes appearing as if he was laughing heartily,

"Aren't you being some a hypocrite? Especially now, considering the fact that you're boasting near her death bed?" Wilfred's expression immediately regained some vivaciousness, and was just about to intrude when Keith wrathfully slammed Roberto against the hard walls, the power he utilized shaking the grounds beneath them.

"ENOUGH!" Keith roared, his angry face now inches in proximity from Roberto's, while the latter didn't appear frightened at all as he continued to taunt the emerald-eyed prince,

"Why are you getting angry?" he shrugged as he supressed his threatening tears. Shrugging contentedly in his usual insouciance, Roberto smiled at Keith, whose eyes were uncannily augmented with a conflation of emotions, "Could it be that I, Roberto Button, finally succeeded in striking the mighty crown Prince Keith Alford where he really hurts?"

Roberto didn't flinch when Keith's fist landed deafeningly on the wall, barely centimetres from his face. Instead, he lowered his eyes onto the ground, suddenly profoundly interested in the fine leather polish of his dress shoes. Keith's chest huffed with ragged fury, his anger growing exponentially by the second as he glared at Roberto's sudden muteness. He removed his knuckles from their unsuccessful endeavour, and turned away from the mocking traces of striking crimson now adorning dull beige. What insolence, he thought while Wilfred quietly approached them from behind, and had softly placed his hands on their nearing shoulders,

"We're all here for the same reason." Roberto turned his face away from the Philipean Prince's consoling words, "Don't start something useless."

There was a brief pause when Wilfred stole an ephemeral glance towards her petite form, his gaze longing, defeated, hopeless.

"She wouldn't want that."

Keith's body trembled noticeably at Wilfred's statement, while Roberto shoved away from the two and slumped on a nearby armchair, grasping his strands tightly in his fingers. Wilfred narrowed his brow at the force Roberto employed, and almost contemplated reassuring him before his conscience warned him against it. Physical pain was a distraction for Roberto, Wilfred thought with a bitter taste in his mouth,

It was perhaps his only method towards salvation.

Amidst their erratic noise, Prince Glenn's gaze didn't shift away from her. He knew what happened, and had already traced down the vehicle that brought her into this state; however, for some reason, he just couldn't accept it. It was as if the knowledge of her lying before him became a forbidden chant, one that was irrevocably near but at the same time, incredibly faraway. He needed to reach it, he needed it to move on, but every cell in his body screamed at him not to. He wanted to walk away, to escape the inevitable verdict that would at any second bestow upon her. He wanted to cry, but somehow, he had emptied his tears.

The memories of their childhood flashed before his eyes with impeccably cruel timing. There she was, perched happily in fields of blooming efflorescence, weaving flowers delicately into a crown that she would later place on her cascading hair. Her presence had ever since then become a wonder to her, and even despite his naïve age, he had sworn in resolution that he would protect her smile for the rest of his life. When he told her of his wish, she had blushed ever so lightly before embracing him tightly, knocking him over as they tumbled in the beautiful meadow. He couldn't forget the dulcet kiss she softly planted on his cheek – for years, that very action provided him the strength to survive in the ominous Oriens castle.

Their second encounter had been unexpected, but nevertheless fated. It was her first dance at Nobel Michael castle, and he had immoderately recognized the niveousness of her hair, the glorious amethyst luster of her eyes; it had been more than 10 years, and her adorableness as a child had transformed into a glorious, divine beauty that was deemed the cynosure of the holy grounds. Prince Wilfred had chuckled at his gaping form, and he recalled shooting him an angry look before stumbling over to her and asking for her hand in dance. To his astonishment, she had graciously complied, and together they…

"…" Glenn's head turned rapidly towards the warning signal upon her heart monitor, his dampened bangs whipping painfully against his skin. He couldn't tell whether the remaining three princes were still present within his periphery, and he couldn't give a damn whether they persisted. Tightening his fingers around her hand, he held his breath as he watched, unblinkingly at the diminishing force of her heart beats, the gradually shortening lines.

They became quieter and quieter, the air around them crystallizing with unspoken tension, looming anticipation. Four pairs of dreaded eyes, four pairs of unanimously thumping hearts directed their unwavering attentions to the machine before them; soliciting, begging, praying, pleading, requesting, imploring towards what may now be an impossible miracle.

They watched as the last arc disappeared from the screen.

The watched as the green line became continuous at once, constant for eternity.

"No…" Roberto's faint whisper blew close to Glenn's ear. It finally ended…he firmly shut his eyelids and turned his back towards her now distant existence, the tears ruthlessly trailing his cheeks contorting his beauty. Wilfred followed, his chest heaving in a coarse cacophony. He wanted to comfort Roberto, and only extended his hand halfway towards his shoulder when Keith forcefully knocked it sideways with his body.

The Libertian Prince's shadow was brutal as he beat against the hospital's interior, his previous wound now streaming with new, unembellished paths of blood.

"Damnit!" frustrated immensely with the lack of power he possessed over fate, Keith pounded his fist repeatedly against the solid surface, the strength of every blow reverberating into the depths of his soul. He couldn't bring himself to stop, even when the impact of his blasts tore his skin open and whitened his knuckles, even when his blood had trickled and blossomed into fiery poppies against the granite tiles, even when his vision was completely obscured with his pathetic tears…

Roberto and Wilfred merely watched, their figures frozen in place.

To Glenn, everything had become irrelevant. Everything. The line on her heart monitor no longer made sense to him as he stared perplexedly at the machine. Perhaps it was due to the grief he so stoically carried this entire time; or perhaps it was the irreplaceable position she held within his heart, none of that mattered anymore. He held on to her cold hand, but he no longer knew why. It was as if time, space, all of the vibrant colors of reality had dissipated into indifferentiable pastels, vague watercolors that bore no visible linings…For in that moment, he was the only one left, the only one left in a forgone, meaningless world.

…

He didn't comprehend the value in piecing beep the box before him produced, nor the niveous light the walls dispensed. There was touch…within his fingers, something soft and tangible, something that reminded him of pudding…He looked absently at the girl before him – her unblinking eyes, her expressionless, portrait-perfect features, the pink bandages that wrapped securely around the upper portion of her chest. There was something nostalgic about her, something that he couldn't quite put his finger upon; but a voice inside his head screamed not to find out.

He didn't move. He couldn't feel. He only stared, unmoving at the still depiction before him, his heartbeat steady and rhythmic, as it had always been.

"Prince Glenn?" Wilfred asked, his voice weak with concern.

"…Yeah." The youngest prince replied, shaking his head and once again mustering his typically detached disposition.

"Prince Wilfred" he enquired upon spotting both Keith and Roberto's slumped forms.

"Why are we all here?"

…he said as he let go of her hand, letting it drop flaccidly to her side.

—-

"Prince Joshua!" Edward exclaimed as he spotted the fierce DresVanian prince traverse just opposite of him, his heart immensely relieved to finally locate a companion in this dreary hospital. Joshua nodded briefly in recognition before continuing his path, to which Edward quickened his pace until they were walking side by side,

"…Do you think, that maybe…" Edward gulped before saying, his slim fingers quivering with apprehension, "Maybe, we're too late?"

Joshua stopped dead in his tracks and contemplated, his heart also dubious, but his customary coolness dictated to only appraise the most optimistic possibilities. With that, he placed his palm on Edward's shoulder, his voice as tranquil as he could possibly manage,

"She'll make it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Her Death** ** Continued – Mirror Fragments (Prince Glenn's Arc) **

He didn't remember.

He _couldn't remember. _

However, the hollow question that haunted Glenn's chest wasn't where the key to his memories lay, nor how he had ended up in such a desolate realm of oblivion.

It was her._ Who was she? _

Prince Glenn stared idly at the paleness encompassing his office, the color a precise reflection of the hospital walls that day. There was the same diaphanousness, the same solemnity that perpetuated whenever he stole glances towards the mocking shades, ones that elicited anonymous wariness within his heart. He couldn't explain the feelings that overcame him; a part of him warned him against that very evocation, however, as his curiosity yet as an adult dictated, he nevertheless desired for to attain the resolution to such a mystery. He had to know, he wanted to know.

He wanted to know her.

He traced his fingers across a mahogany picture frame before him, his touch tentative against the fine polished wood, as if handling something of immense, inexplicable value. The imbricated patterns of the sculpted plant felt…oddly warm against his skin, as if mystically possessing an existence of its own – one that is capable of breathing and emanating genuine warmth. Perhaps that was the eternal wonderment to the vegetation in this world, we could never truly comprehend the makings of their minds, the genius behind their effervescent foliage. How insignificant human existence was, and yet, through intertwining gossamers of illusion, we managed to dilute reality into the palms of our hands, seizing control and conquering triumph, one that humanity may never be truly justified to claim.

There was nothing particularly striking about the portrait beneath his fingers. Absolutely nothing. The paintings that ornamented the walls of the castle corridors exhibited a much more grandiose beauty, their presences ineffably magnificent upon sight. The sole photograph before him was a field of yellow flowers, their elfin petals protruding vivaciously, their stances shifted by the wind. Glenn stared at its contents briefly before widening his eyes, the chocolate brown undertone of his irises eerily distant as he mouthed ethereally his revelation,

"Narcissus."

He failed to comprehend why the syllables of the flower's name dispensed sour remnants in his mouth. Glenn didn't care for the flower in particular; in fact, he didn't care for flowers in general. However, the meadow imprinted on the photograph made him nauseous, the bitter aftermaths on his tongue accompanied by the emerging throbbing sensation located in the back of his head. Needles, intangible but nevertheless protruding needles stung the makings of his mind, ones that ragged his breath, thundered his heart. His knuckles whitened as he slammed the elegant frame audibly on the table, the force he employed so prominent that he could still feel the evanescent fissions of trembling glass reverberating against his skin.

Slumping lifelessly on his chair, the Oriens prince entangled his chocolate brown strands between his fingers, desperately attempting to supress the nameless tears that threatened to escape his eyes. There was a foreign contriteness that circulated through his body – one ancient, unyielding, one so powerfully surging that his vision blurred, the colors before him dissipating into an unfocused, chaotic blur. The air around him felt unusually cold, freezing his body into a state beyond obscurity, save for the scorching ache of his brain roaring within his skull, protesting against a worthless, forsaken cause.

Glenn closed his eyes in exasperation, his moistened lashes pressed tightly against his ashen skin. Truth be told, the prince hadn't possessed the heart to glance in a mirror for the previous couple days, therefore, he remained blissfully ignorant to the plethora of aged freckles that crept up the sculpted curve of his nose. The fabrics of his shirt crinkled languidly with his every quivering movement, a happening that contrasted starkly against the overwhelming sorrow that submerged his heart…

There was an ephemeral touch, a soft warmth that graced his bloodless wrists. There was a buzzing noise, one that immensely annoyed Glenn amongst his sadness. He raised his heat, fury evident in his crystalized irises until he witnessed the apprehensive expression of his little brother.

If there was a force imperative enough to divert Glenn from his absorption, it was the swollen, puffy eyes of Alan. There were still visible scintillas of decrepit tears upon his rosy cheeks, and his erratic breathing was a hoarse cacophony…he had always envied Alan for his adorable mannerism and docile disposition, and he didn't know whether it was due to his personal transformation, or to the fact that Alan gave off the impression of a repugnant child…but in that very moment, his endearing little brother look incredibly ugly.

Alan shook him with his elfin palms, and Glenn blinked a couple times in succession before the buzzing noise concentrated into discernible discourse. He watched with vague eyes as Alan's lips vibrated, his pearlescent teeth glistening with almost an ironic lustrousness,

"Brother! Brother! Can you hear me?!" There last of his words were an indistinct susurration, and Glenn briefly wondered why his brother's speech had become so obstreperous.

"Alan, what is it?" he enquired, his voice dripping with disinterest. Alan puffed out his cheeks indignantly, and narrowed his brows for only a couple seconds before he reached out and slapped the elder prince sharply across his cheek.

To Alan's dismay, Glenn didn't appear to react at all as he stared blankly, as if looking pass Alan's existence and into a distant realm of nothingness. He knew that his elder brother had always assumed a façade of detachment, one that masqueraded his insecurities of being the youngest and most inexperienced prince of the six kingdoms. However, to see him this…out of it was beyond his endurance. Distressed, the younger prince slammed his weight against Glenn's body, his cries shrill, more piercing this time,

"Brother! Is there something wrong with you?! Someone, HELP!" Glenn's temples pulsated, and it took him incalculable strength to finally elevate his head on Alan's plane. His chest felt heavy as Alan's eyes worriedly scanned his, and all he could do was reach out and gently pat his small head,

However, his hand didn't accurately designate towards its target, and it landed emptily in the air, as if he was soliciting something that never would exist. He had never considered reaching out to be something so difficult, and despite his dissonance he couldn't assemble the strength to shift his hand, so instead he placed his finger tenderly on Alan's shoulder, the fine material of his sweater somewhat comfortable…

"Brother! What's wrong with you?!" Glenn's eyes widened in awe as moieties of iridescent tears splashed from Alan's cheeks, his voice burdened with negativity uncharacteristic of a child. His small hands were clenched forcibly at his side, the red marks that originated from his palm now visible, staring almost scornfully at Glenn's indifference.

"What's…wrong with me?" he asked, his features immobile. Alan nodded eagerly, his head bobbing up and down in such a rapid motion that Glenn wondered momentarily if it was detached from the rest of his body. He dismissed the thought when Alan's face came closer, the proximity between them alarming,

"I've been calling you for a really long time now! But you didn't respond!"

He blinked. "How long have you been here?"

Alan backtracked and placed his hand under his chin. He appeared to have contemplated earnestly for a second before retorting, "Ever since you were staring at that picture!"

_Ever since he stared at that picture_. Glenn repeated Alan's words slowly in his head; he had been so fixated on uncovering his own denouement that he had failed to attend to anything else within his vision. Glenn could have sworn that he had been alone in his laments, but of course, like everything else that he had tried to secure judgment upon in the past couple days, he had been terribly wrong.

_Tragedy commences only amidst numbing tranquility…_

He leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth curving upwards in a ghost of a forced smile, rendering his expression all the more grotesque. "Alan, why are you here?"

Alan's face lit up fleetingly. Not in the conventionally innocent manner a child would normally exhibit, Glenn thought to himself. He watched closely as Alan's eyes lowered once more as he sank his teeth into his bottom lip, one dried, cracked and already inaugurating the filmy redness of his capillaries. He washed his gaze over the young prince, and for the first time truly noticed how disorderly he was – his neatly combed brown hair had been ruffled in the most unruly manner, and his skin was covered in…ash? Somehow, he seemed sickly, like he just had the life sucked out of him by some mystic entity-

"I was going to give you this…" Alan was uncertain as he approached Glenn, so instead he reached up and slid the pure white envelope across his desk, the trajectory landing softly in Glenn's lap. Glenn retrieved the envelope and looked dubiously at it for a moment before he tried to rip its restraints open. His fingers shuddered around the crumpling paper, his brows narrowing in frustration at his inability to complete even such a plebeian task. _Was he always like this? _He thought with vigor.

Alan had been crying when he gently pried the envelope out of Glenn's knotted fingers. Slowly, he recovered folded letter from within its depths and handed it to him. He would have usually looked triumphant when he was discovered more competent than his elder brother; however, as situations and times alter, the young prince could no longer be sure of anything.

Glenn opened the missive and sluggishly scanned its contents. He couldn't be sure of whether or not he understood its words correctly – at first, they were an uncoordinated sequence of demon black against angel white, their figures perplexedly curving and straightening randomly according to their own will. However, as his eyes progressed along the lines, his mind became shaper, more lucid; the adagio within his head accelerating into a rapid allegro.

"Dismiss this at once." he said, tossing the material in a nearby trashcan.

Alan no longer concealed his despondence. With maddened tears pouring from his eyes, he clung onto his brother's leg with all his might, his voice strident as he screamed, brutally penetrating Glenn's eardrums, "It's her funeral! It's **our **princess's funeral! How can you say that brother?!"

Glenn raised his brow at Alan's accusatory tone. _Our princess, _he mouthed, and pondered momentarily before a splitting headache overcame him, one that crumped him into the depths of his chair. _Our princess, princess, princess…_

_Her. _

It was her. An assemblage of images swarmed into the open gateway of his mind, the excruciating pain of it so devastating that it crumpled him once more. He violently seized his head in a fit of fury, desperate to shut down the combating agony that threatened to shatter his skull. Bits and pieces of his memories broke its way back into his conscience – the mellifluous chime of her voice, the amethyst fire that occupied her eyes, the way her smile illuminated his world, brightening it into something he had never seen alone. Her, her name, the effeminate sound that-

"**STOP**!" he screamed, the power in his voice reverberating senselessly against his walls. He rose out of his seat, his finger still tightly clenched around the fibres of his hair, his strength threatening to rip them out at any moment. _He saw, but he can't, he just can't allow himself to feel… _

_Her heart monitor that had died down into eternal consistency; the colorless that would never utter her kind thoughts to him, _

_Not ever again. _

Alan's tears stained Glenn's trousers as he yelled, his convictions nevertheless resolute, "BROTHER, it's her funeral! You HAVE TO GO!" his short fingers tensed, endeavouring frantically to provide his brother some emotional stability, some sort of closure. He knew, that out of all the people who knew her, Glenn was the one who was affected most heavily by the burden of her death, perhaps the only-

"**NO. SHUT UP ALAN!" **Glenn's temples were about to explode by his extreme pain. The rhythm of his breath became overpowering, a driving force that completely obliterated the perception of his every sense. There it was, _her existence, _fighting its way back into his memories and validating itself once more. The happiness he experienced with her when they chatted animatedly in the courtyards of Nobel Michael – he could still recall the revitalizing breeze, one that lifted her hair into a divine hurricane of white.

The hope he had harbored when he had formulated a dramatic proposal, one that he believed firmly would sweet her off her feet. He had never been more ecstatic than on that particular day, and he had practiced his proposal in front of his mirror countless, _countless times…_

The overwhelming regret and disappointment he felt when he learned that she had been claimed by another-

"NO! BROTER, _YOU CAN'T BE SO _**_HEARTLESS_**!" Alan screamed, every syllable of his croaking message stifled by his tears.

_Heartless? _

_…_

That word shattered Glenn's resolve, unearthing a primitive fury that widened his eyes, bringing forth a maliciousness that partially distracted his pain. Mind clouded by anger, he laughed maliciously, an artistry of none other than Lucifer himself. There was…something euphoric about the way he swung his leg out – the enthralling magnificence of motion. There was something magical about the manner in which Alan was released from his trousers; something even more exciting about the way his small back collided against the large mirror; more exhilarating about the fashion he tumbled flaccidly down the ground…

In the next moment, the mirror fragmented like cascading water, some of its pieces scattering about, while the others landed sharply upon Alan's immobile form. There were crimson roses blossoming from his lips, their petals blooming persistently onto the carpet below him, staining it with the evidence of Glenn's atrocity. Alan's eyes, ones that had produced incalculable tears for him in the past few minutes became glassy, marble-like, as if they were going to spill out of his sockets at any second…

Glenn froze.

…

His memories of her were now just an irrelevant stream of portraits in his head. He stood transfixed, bewildered by the sight of Alan's blood reddening the glass surrounding him, painting them demonic rubies that stared reprovingly…

…

_Silence was torment._

A century appeared to have passed before he fell to his knees, his mind nullified. He could no longer feel the tears that trickled down his cheeks, even despite its alarming warmth against his bloodless skin. _What have I done, _he implored, _what have I done, what have I done… _His hand tightened, and his bangs masked his solemn expression as he crawled pathetically towards his brother's corpse…

_Condemned yet guiltless. _

He traced his fingers gently his brother's cheekbones, his touch feather-light. He hoped, desperately hoped that Alan would revive, laugh and bat away his hand, the way he always did.

But this time, he was cold, petrified like stone.

_What had he done…_

Glenn stole a glance towards the marred glass, the puzzle pieces of his mirror now undone. He didn't know if it was due to the lighting, or because of the angle in which they were so impeccably dispersed – but each and every one of them reflected his image, his whole image. He cringed at how…monstrous he appeared in that very moment; he was _inhumane, just like the way he had abandoned his remembrances of her upon her death._

He had murdered Alan, his one and only brother.

Stealing a glance at his repulsive reflections once more, Glenn slowly picked up a mirror fragment, one he knew was large enough to convey its purpose effectively. He held it up in the air, and smiled one last time at the enchanting way the light danced upon its surface – a celestial luminescence.

He would achieve redemption.

"_Alan, I'm so sorry."_

_"…"_

_"I'll always be with you."_

Those were the last words he whispered before swallowing the piece of glass.

_…He would be forgiven. _

—-

Yu scurried down the grand corridors of Oriens castle, an elated spring in his step as he darted his gaze around, searching.

He knew she was gone, but despite his sorrow and grieving, life was destined to go on. Maybe it was God's will that sufficed, but the castle now hustled to welcome a most joyous occasion; so whatever he felt, he would swallow and assume a fascia of happiness for his master.

A maid passed. He interrupted her path with a practiced bow and an expectant grin about his features,

"Have you seen Prince Glenn anywhere?"

She shook her head. "No."

Yu frowned, his well-formed browns narrowing in frustration. The maid detected this fragile movement of his and enquired, her voice warm,

"Why do you need to see His Highness?"

He smiled, the curvature of his lips transforming into a serene arc. From the insides of his suit jacket, Yu uncovered a small yet artistically constructed piece of paper - upon it stood an adorable teddy-bear, one that balanced an oversized golden crown on its head with a reluctant expression,

"He needs to sign Prince Alan's birthday card."


	3. Chapter 3

**Her Death** ** Continued – Aqua Blue (Joshua's Arc)**

- As the name implies, this piece deals with the struggles prince Joshua and his troops in the desert. When he deserted Roberto, he made the wrong turn and ended up nowhere.

- He had no idea where he was going, and there was no signal of course, so they wandered days without food, and sooner or later most of his men had died out of thirst if not hunger.

- Watching all before him die, he starts to implore why all this chaos had commenced. He knew it was because of her, but he refused to believe that such an insignificant woman had literally descended hell on earth.

- He held his hand into the sun and watched its rays filter through his transparent skin. There was a brief moment of silence,

- Water, that was why he existed. He walks, he crawls, he starts to hallucinate about water, and eventually he sees an oasis amidst everything. He had been so happy, and he nearly used all his strength to scoop up a handful of water to his lips…

- It was dry and muffled against him, the water tasted like sand. He couldn't believe it. He did again, but instead choked on the supposedly crystalline liquid. Coughing, he buried his head in the desert sand, his last breath hovering ethereally about his lips…

- Scene switch, Joshua's staring at the wall in Dres Van castle, and Jan and his psychiatrist are talking about further treatments. (he's become _**a schizophrenic**_)

- Joshua's faced with the possibility of never recovering, and Jan through his tears phones Prince Leonardo to commence the plan they had once formulated to overthrow the Lieben family. He cries, the first time he had for the past two decades, and Prince Leonardo reluctantly agrees to meet him.

- The two discuss briefly at Dres Van castle, Leonardo sees Joshua's blank eyes, and couldn't help but sigh heavily. He walks over and takes Joshua's hands, and for a moment he just stares, like that's his sole route towards salvation. Moments later he slaps Joshua across the face, tears streaming from his eyes as he laments how Joshua changed him as a person, and yet he had reversed back to a worthless infant. Jan tries to hold Leonardo back, but he shrugs him off and screams uncontrollably, insulting Joshua's weakness. He had exhausted his voice before he finally succumbed to his knees, and taking one last look at Joshua, he whispers breathlessly to Jan that he'll agree to take over Dres Van, and if there's any way to preserve the Lieben bloodline.

- Jan slowly shakes his head. Exasperated, Leonardo leaves, and Jan breaks down once more. After his tears dry, he asks Joshua, "_I hope that wherever you are, you're happy." _To his surprise, Joshua finally looks at him and smiles, the serenity of his smile utterly stunning

- Jan holds the emotionless Joshua in his arms before whispering, "_Forgive me, Your Highness. Life needs to go on."_


	4. Chapter 4

Her Death Continued - Haunted (Edward's Arc)

author's note: the messy writing is supposed to reflect edward's inner state =/

anyway, this is not nearly as good as prince Glenn's story

the next one fuses Roberto and Keith. that one will be REALLY relevant and well…super intense. hehehe

—

"Hmm…"

He had not heard the birds sing for days.

Edward gently placed his teacup upon its porcelain coaster, his finger cushioning the ethereal clink when the two made contact. The rose garden concealed at the back of his castle had been his favorite location to enjoy any endeavor that happened to wander within his mind; it was a place where he could relish in life at his leisure, uninterrupted by the hustling noises of the busy world around him. There was an unadulterated tranquility of the place, its quiescence only accompanied by the melodic chirpings of the birds, their voices filled with a magic that truly enticed him.

There were still remnants of rose upon his tongue. Today, he had specially requested Louis to provide his tea with white rose petals as the ingredient, in replacement of his usual crimson. He couldn't quite comprehend himself why he possessed the sudden change of heart; and for some reason, he was okay with that.

A sudden streak of color flashed before his eyes.

White.

What was white in Edward's life? He recalled the magnificence of Charles castle encased in snow every winter – it was as if the sky mystically painted his home with its inexplicable gift, one of unearthly beauty and unparalleled grace. As a child, that was the time of year he had looked forward to the most: the diaphanous snowflakes that each took on their unique shape, the fresh scent of snow that would envelop him wherever he went. Unlike the languidness of spring, the revitalizing cold of winter made him feel truly alive.

His family tree comprised of a long history of white, he thought as he chucked amusingly to himself. For some unknown reason, the royal house of the Levaincois had, under all circumstances white hair, as if they've already accumulated a lifetime of wisdom from the moment they emerged from their mother's wombs. There had been a common joke among the Princes that Edward was an 'unseasonal Santa Claus', one that he found exceptionally peculiar, but nevertheless fascinating.

However, the more recent manifestation of the dreary color would be the appalling scene he witnessed that day at the hospital. Truth be told, the moment he had received Prince Wilfred's phone call, he had detected that something out of the ordinary had just transpired: there were colossal volumes of rainclouds looming among the atmosphere, masquerading its preceding blueness, and the rain had poured down so viciously, so relentlessly that the sky appeared to have been crying. The happenings of nature often reflect the feelings of humanity, and at the time, he had not immediately registered the severity of the situation before him.

When he and the Dres Vanian Prince arrived upon her death bed, his eyes had augmented, his heart had halted. She was still, so irrevocably still, almost like a wax statue, one strikingly similar to Galatea, in her marble glory awaiting the elegant arrival of fair Aphrodite to blow scintillations of life within her. There was a distilled beauty in the manner her lashes cast dark shadows upon her cheekbones; there was something enthralling of the ephemeral pale lavender undertone of her eyelids, ones accented by the luminescence of the florescent lights above her immobile form. White, walls of white surrounded her, painting heaven's meadows amidst the impending trepidation that resonated unanimously within everyone's hearts.

The world held no romance, he thought as his knees crumbled, his bones clashing against the senseless tiles in a pathetic solicit. There would be no divine goddess to revive her from her eternal slumber; there would be no more attempts at retrieving her from the suspension between death and consciousness. The motionlessness before him was the end; the end of everything.

What later astonished him was the lack of sentiment he so uncharacteristically exhibited. He had watched in ineffable disinterest when then Prince Keith and Prince Roberto threatened to rip each other's throats out, when young Prince Glenn appeared to have forgotten his relations with everything before his eyes, or even when Prince Joshua protested his indignation by a fierce slam of the hospital door, an action that silenced the room that moments ago held the testimony of his existence. He said nothing, he _felt nothing_. There had been no passion in his amethyst irises as he stared at the portrait before him – the walls of endless white, the color so pure yet so profound that it consumed his senses, rendering him irreversibly, powerlessly numb.

Had the color always been…so disgusting? If he had been convinced so, then why would he desire it? It had, after all, always been in his nature to speak exactly what he thought; then why was he avoiding none other than himself?

"Your Highness." Louis's calm voice traversed into Edward's ears, and a radiant smile flashed across the prince's features as he addressed his beloved butler. Whatever negative emotions he had felt, he needed not to burden others with its complications; however, much to his oblivion, his grin appeared unrealistically wide, one uncharacteristic of the graceful Edward Levaincois,

"Yes Louis?" he enquired, his pearlescent teeth glistening against the final rays of the remaining sun. Louis's brows furrowed slightly at his master's feigned expression, a sight that was truly rare to behold. They were the best of friends, and as he could recall, this was perhaps the first time His Highness had neglected him the privilege of divulging in his thoughts. There was something off of the happening before him, something _terribly off_.

"Would you like more tea?"

Routine was tedious. Customs are spiritless.

Edward affixed his gaze of the elaborately painted teapot Louis so practicedly balanced between his thin fingers. The scattered rays of the evening sun painted the pale container beige – a desolate, lonesome color that shone idly among the winds' accelerando, an impeccable conflation of calm and chaos.

His vision was akin to a condensed allegory of the cosmic universe. What's true, what's false, what's justice and foul all merging into a translucent swirl, their opposing forces combating ferociously in secrecy.

The fusion of _everything into nothing._

"Your…Highness?" Louis worriedly ventured at Edward's distant disposition. He had never seen his master so unfocused, so deferred from reality; the usual contentment that occupied his lips had vanished, and in its place stood a grim, hard pressed line that barely fostered any color. His eyes just stared, stared inertly at his hand, the kindness in his normally warm irises eliminated by an overwhelming glassiness, as vacant as marble.

"Louis." His lips trembled, but his expression remained constant. Louis immediately turned and lowered his head, his eyes glued to the tiles upon the ground, "Would you like to take a walk with me?"

There was no imploration within his tone. Louis studied his solemn features carefully for a second: Edward had become one of the walking dead, one that held a heart and mind of his own, but not a soul. It was as if somehow, the essence of his existence had evaporated into evanescence, rendering his body an empty vessel. He couldn't help but wonder in apprehension whether or not Prince Edward himself knew of his transformation – if he went as far to point it out, would it benefit his master in any imaginable way?

"Of course, Your Highness. It would be my pleasure."

Together, they walked side by side into the efflorescent depths of the rose garden, the redolence of a late summer bloom encompassing their every senses. The graves of twilight highlighted the assemblage of bushes and flowers an enchanting gold, transforming their environs into a mystic, celestial chamber. Louis paid no mind to the splendour around him, but instead stole temporary glances towards His Highness, his mind anxious with the possibilities of his despair…

Edward held his hands together across his chest as he wandered his gaze listlessly. The sun had just disappeared behind the mountains, leaving its scattered rays reflecting uncoordinatedly between the countless leaves before him. Mountains, mountains with linings of navy and green stretched across the horizon, intertwining what appeared to be the ends of the earth with its enigmatic stroke of color. There were shadows, shadows that ascended as the last shards of twilight performed their climactic diaspora…

He had witnessed this exchange many times before; however, today the imbricated pattern brought in his heart a new bleakness. It was as if with the beginnings of darkness, all hope would be wiped from within him, inhabiting him a figure of no significance. _Numb. _He couldn't quite put his finger upon why he had at once become so disoriented. Or perchance, he was like this from the beginning, and he was the only one who remained ignorant of his makings…

A sudden beam of lustrous gold fragmented his relapse, and he immediately fixated his eyes upon the edge of spotlight: there, hidden artfully between the foliage of roses was a web, one whose gossamers appeared lonesome in presence. Its intricate threads were tessellated with a widening pattern, akin to silver fireworks that exploded within the blackness of night, deafening to its calamity. Its owner stood upon the center, its eyes glistening with malice as it tapped its feet against its masterful creation. Edward stared in awe – not at the elaborate cobweb, neither the spider, but instead at a brilliant butterfly whose checkered wings were torn apart, her trembling body enveloped by same silver that constructed her balance.

He didn't shift his eyes as the spider descended its mouth on the butterfly's lissome body, nor did he cringe when a foul liquid darkened the constraints on her ropes. There was a certain majesty to the manner in which she died – not with some glorious implosion of untamed flames, nor by the perpetual capsulation of imperishable ice; but with silence. Immense, uncontrolled silence, a silence that forebode humanity at its best and worst, a silence that would inevitably transpire as the denouement of everything.

It wasn't until visible lumps of her wings fell from the web that Edward reacted to the protruding pain at the back of his skull. He couldn't discern how long it had been there, or the reason of its initiation, but he knew that now it had become so prominent that it threatened to drive him into madness. His fingers flew to his hair, and his knuckles whitened with the strength in which he desired to tear his head into two…

He screamed into his torturing pulsating, and Louis worriedly scurried over to him and firmly held his shoulders in place. The ringing in Edward's ears reverberated, drowning out Louis's cries as he dropped flaccidly to his knees. His repressed emotions, memories, all of it swarmed back into his consciousness, imploding every single nerve within his head, but also bestowing upon his insight an incredibly lucidity:

Death. Death was everywhere.

The descent of the butterfly's chromic wings before her predator.

Her voiceless death upon the pale white sheets.

The birds…the birds in the garden. Just days ago he had seen their limp bodies huddled together in the castle corners, their flesh already decomposing into a repugnant brownness, their feathers torn, their eyes wide. A dried pool of blood poured from them, forming an incoherent cloud of dark red that stood menacingly against the grey stone. He had dismissed it, just like how he dismissed every other ugly scene that entered his vision, just like how he had pretended that every aspect of his life was pure and flawless,

Just like how he had been _stubbornly delusional _all this life.

Poverty. He recalled the grotesque allies where civilians lay dead due to the nation-wide plague when he was a child. He had chosen to turn a blind eye.

Blood. He recalled the crimson roses that spilled mercilessly from the soldiers' wilted corpses as they piled like mountains upon the warfront. He had turned his head and instead focused on the faraway, crepuscular greenery of the mountains,

…

Edward couldn't contain the scorching tears that spilled from his eyes. His throne, his life as a prince, all of it was but an inglorious lie. There was no true beauty in the world, only shades of black and of grey – everything he had once believed in came crashing and tumbling upon him, suffocating, smothering his last remains of reason. He could no longer be sure of anything; he was no longer able to re-establish the rhapsodic illusion of peace and serenity,

_There was no such color as unadulterated white._

He had been haunted all his life, he thought as the thundering in his head increased in tempo and intensity. He was hollow, emptied by his unrealistic desires of perfection – an ancient disease that occupied his very being ever since he was but a toddler. It had infected, corrupted him irrevocably to the core…if salvation was attainable, would he still possess the strength to undergo yet another brutal transformation?

With that, his sight turned colorless. He could no longer hear Louis' fretful cries as he submerged into his ultimate paradise –

A boundless field of effervescent white roses.

—

Louis watched in silence as Prince Edward danced in the center of the garden, his tall figure twirling ungainly between the rows of darkening bushes. Every now and then, he would mouth something incomprehensible; or perhaps grasp his fingers ecstatically through something intangible and amorphous. Louis paid all of his absurdity no mind.

All he cared about was the relaxed smile now embellishing his master's features.

"Louis!" Prince Edward exclaimed as he extended his arms excitedly, his eyes absorbed in a faraway clarity,

"Let's go chase after the reindeer that are racing through the sky!" he sang happily, pointing into the depths of shadowy clouds, ones that comprised of nothing more than several twinkling stars.

"Hurry up, they're escaping!"

Louis had not required even a second's contemplation as he offered his hand.

"Of course, Your Highness." He replied as an idle tear slid down his cheek, its transparency invisible by the dim evening luminance.

He didn't know whether he cried of joy or sorrow,

But he knew that it didn't matter.

His master is gone along with her


	5. Chapter 5

Her Death Continued - Pandemonium (Roberto's Arc PtI)

author's note: ok, here comes the central conflict in mortem xD there's no extreme angst involved, and i personally am a fan of action like this so i think it'll be a good read :3 i've divided pandemonium into two parts, because i only have the mental capacity to write a limited amount of words per day -.-

anyway, i urge you to read Mirror Fragments (Glenn's story) and Haunted (Edward's story) before you read this one, otherwise it'll make no sense at all =/

—

_Oh stars, hide your fires; Let light not see my black and deep desires! - Macbeth_

It had been days, days since they've received news of the mysterious happenings within the Levaincois house. The Charles Monarchy had been particularly, almost uncannily secretive of the situation as they continued to undisclose their endeavors from the curious eyes of the public. The princes had already learned of the tragedy befallen upon the Oriens royal family – of Glenn's impulsive murder of himself and his younger brother, his actions forsaking his previous duties as crown prince, leaving his kingdom without an heir. Desperation brimming, The Oriens King travelled alone to the Kingdom of Liberty in order to plead with the Alfords for an alliance, one that would prevent the neighboring forces from conquering them during their time of weakness.

Prince Keith recalled the decision of his father with absolute lucidity: without a second of thought, His Highness had consented to the Orien King's offer with welcoming arms and a sincere smile. Keith had almost failed to supress his outrage when he noticed the malicious scintillations emerging in his father's eyes, one that rendered his next condition much more predictable.

"Only if Oriens becomes a colony of Liberty."

After a fierce dispute between the two Kings, His Majesty of Oriens begrudgingly agreed, however only under the conditions that Oriens retains its national name. The Libertian king had nodded satisfactorily at the compromise, and within but days, Oriens' sources of trade, technological manufactures as well as development, along with their GDP all were attributed to Liberty, further strengthening the nation's international influence. Much ironically, by the deaths of Prince Glenn and Prince Alan, Prince Keith was made the most indispensable prince, perhaps since the dawn of time.

However, none of that occupied even a second of this thoughts as he leaned scornfully against the pale gold walls of Nobel Micheal castle. His intelligent emerald eyes scrutinized the other princes' sombreness: their idle backs were turned to him, a highly uncustomary display that flared Keith's nostrils. To have his _allies_ exhibit such insolence to him was unbearable, especially since his position amongst the regime was now more vital than it had ever been. He was just about to voice his discontent when none other than Lord Michael himself made his entrance into the grandiose space before them, capturing their unanimous attentions at once…

Prince Roberto narrowed his caliginous brown eyes at the elderly Lord: his typically well-groomed beard no longer possessed its signature shine, but instead appeared shrivelled and unkempt, as if he had the very foundations of his life source sucked out of him. _Serves him right_, he thought as a wicked smirk emerged from his tasteless lips, _he's been around far too long for comfort. _

Disgusted at his sudden revelation, Roberto shut his lustrous lashes firmly against his cheeks and shook his head, the rushing airs slapping his hair to his skin. He couldn't, for the life of him decipher what had overcame him lately – he was accustomed of personifying the paragon of goodness, of the glorious light that shone brilliantly against the antisocial chromism of the other princes. However, much to his astonishment, for the past several days his mind had somehow induced him to abandon his usual kindness, and instead assumed a malicious front that would irritate him to no ends…

"I see all of you have gathered here…" Roberto's eyes shot up in Lord Michael's direction, and somehow assembled the smile he so commonly wore about his features; but this time, the upturned arc of his lips dispensed a bitter feeling in his mouth, akin to the aftertaste of something utterly vile, repulsive.

Lord Michael appeared to have aged decades - his robes hung loosely to his skeleton, something that Roberto had never before witnessed. He'd always expected the finest of aristocracy to engage in frequent tailoring, so that their attire remained perfectly pristine at all times. Nobel Michael XIII was at the very top of his list, which contributed all the more to his trepidation as he stared the man down,

"…" Nobel opened his mouth, his lips dried, cracked and unveiling his ashen maroon capillaries. He desired to speak, but of what, nobody knew, all they could do was fix their sights in reverence, each distributing looming silence in anticipation of his declaration;

Deciding his efforts fruitless, Lord Michael chuckled to himself, the heart sound in stark contrast to the plethora of forlorn wrinkles embellishing his face. Roberto stole an ephemeral glance towards Wilfred, the latter seeming to drip of palpable uninterest as he toyed with his wineglass, allowing the crystalline liquid to swim in mini hurricanes of molten crimson through the sparkling transparency,

"I hope her death hasn't affected you such, as it did me…" he croaked, his head dipped down so that his niveous grey beard extended to beyond his knees. "I really hope not…"

"Lord Michael." Concluding he could endure it no longer, Roberto extended his arm towards the elderly Nobel, the potent red velvet of his royal gardrobe wrinkling listlessly against his skin, "Forgive my prudence, but you should really rest."

Insipid aqua encountered chocolate brown. Lord Michael held Prince Roberto's gaze for longer than he expected, and Roberto had just offered his arm in escort when the lord spoke, "Thank you, my dear Roberto."

There was something dreadfully different about his evocative tone, one that made Prince Roberto incredibly uneasy. He dropped his hand flaccidly to his side, and watched with equal intent at Nobel's piercing gaze; at that very moment, the dishevelled remains of him transfigured into one much more stately, mirroring the great lord at height of his power just five decades previous,

"Be careful." Roberto furrowed his brows in conflating confusion and irritation as he vanished behind the marble doors of the dining hall, his deep purple robes trailing desultorily out of sight.

Overbearing peace had encompassed the room once more. Roberto settled himself inaudibly in a nearby chair and poured himself a cup of wine, the memories of her once again dominating his conscience: her euphonious voice whenever she so clearly enunciated the syllables of his name, the airy elegance of her enchanting movements, and her eyes, he thought with glee. There was something innately entrancing of her prominent violet irises – the way they glistened darkly against the crepuscular moonlight, or the amorphous shimmers they emanated under the reign of Apollo's golden chariot, all of them marked her as someone extraordinary; signified her as every inch his dearest friend…

_But she was gone_, he thought with vigor, almost as if to obliterate himself of his façade of hope, of the illusive possibility that she may still be alive. _She was gone, _he repeated maliciously in his head, _gone. Dead. She's not coming back. _

He had been so absorbed in his chants that he failed to notice when his wine glass filled to the brim, nor when the expensive beverage spilled unpityingly onto the pure white tablecloths, marring the distilled color with furiously blossoming roses…

"Prince Roberto." Keith said with staggering uninterested, his sharp brow arced questioningly at the Altarian Prince's immobility, "You're spilling wine everywhere."

Roberto jerked violently at Keith's voice, retracting his hand from its unintentional mischiefs. Sensing the remaining three princes' perplexed gazes upon him, he blushed profusely and retrieved his handkerchief, feebly wiping the spilled wine off of his glass. His actions looked so pathetic that Prince Keith, amidst his sorrow bellowed,

"Leave that to the maids." He snorted and turned his head haughtily in the air, "You look like some worthless commoner. Someone who doesn't even deserve to be here." His words were half-hearted; so he couldn't have predicted what kind of severe predicament he would so carelessly arise,

Prince Roberto shut his eyes in dismay. He had heard the arrogant Libertan Prince repeat that exact phrase countless times, no matter how formal or holy the occasion demanded. The effects of his words had been long nullified, so much so that he was able to tune out his message into but a background blur, one quiet enough to parallel a hummingbird's wings. If it wasn't for her graceful intrudance into his life, he would have ignored Keith's outburst just like any other time. She was but a commoner, but the image he preserved of her outshone any queen in all their effeminate majesties,

It felt as if his insult tainted not only him, but her spirit, one that would never, not ever again be within his reach.

A prevailing fury suddenly overcame him, propelling Roberto to at once freeze his movements as he fixated his burning irises on Prince Keith's shadow.

"Well, Prince Keith, I'm sure you're an expert on commoners by now, since one of your civilians pretty much _caused her death_."

Prince Joshua, whose amethyst eyes had occupied a surreal distance as he glanced at the faraway horizons finally retried his attention, his expression insouciant as Prince Keith's sculpted features contorted in wrath. Prince Roberto knew of the toll her death had on him, also the guilt he harbored for one of his own citizens' careless crime in shattering her life force. He had been suppressing the fact for so long, and he had almost succeeded in burying the memory underneath the swerving currents of his conscience. However, much to his anger, Prince Roberto had so senselessly retrieved it from its icy confounds, and so exuberantly at that.

Approaching the Altarian Prince, Keith hoisted Roberto up by his collar, the muscles in his arm protruding noticeably as he adjourned the latter midair. He gritted his teeth, the force he employed threatening reddening his cheeks as he roared, "Roberto Button, how dare you bring that up again!" his fingers tightened against Roberto, and he swore the material of his shirt was becoming dimmer by the second,

Roberto didn't appear at all disgruntled at Keith's threat. Instead, he lowered his lashes, the most charming smile Keith had ever witnessed now pasted across his face. "Why? Did _Your Highness institute a new policy against it?_ If so, may I remind you that your laws are ineffective against the crown prince of Altaria?" He descended his hands on Keith's arm and dug his nails into the midnight black fabric, his strength wincing the emerald-eyed prince, his smile of a devilish incandescence,

"Or are you so fragile at this point that you can't even stand to _hear your own delinquency, Alfor-_"

His menacing elucidation was interjected by a burning sensation across his face. Roberto's eyes widened in awe, not so much at the fact that Keith had slapped him by his provocation, but more to the fact that he had attempted to taunt another human being in the first place. His mind conducted a fleeting replay of the past few seconds – the repugnant undertone of his voice, his grotesque choice of diction, all if it betrayed his benevolence, polluting the pureness of his heart…

"Keithster, I-" before he could finish, Keith thrust his arm forward, plunging Roberto forward in a devastation arc, his emerald gaze grim.

The moon shone with an iridescent refinement against the transparent glass, which trembled lightly when Roberto's back collided against a mahogany table, the impact of his weight putrefying the wood and fragmenting it into pieces. He crumpled to the stinging pain bestowed upon his flesh, his mind no longer eager to conceal its effervescent malice,

_Everything, every belief of munificence he had so preciously held dissembled, unraveling the dazzling mastermind behind hell's artistry. _

Prince Wilfred remained indifferent to the happenings before him, whereas Prince Joshua's lips opened fleetingly, but had decided against voicing his discontent. Instead, he refocused upon the night scenery, his hair muffled attractively by the evening tempest…

Joshua had never believed in souls. To him, it had always been the redundant cycle of birth, life and death. From the moment we were born, we strive, fight to welcome a superior means of death, if not for a fruitful life; every effort we invest is set for the betterment …of what? Exactly? The wealth, fame or reputation we earn cannot taken to the afterlife, in fact, we were wiped a translucent tabula rasa the moment we lose consciousness, transformed into a completely, utterly useless pile of intangible ash.

But now, he wanted to believe. He wanted to know where she was, how she was doing, and how she felt of the aftermaths of her death. If she had known that Alan and Glenn were murdered on his behalf, and the vicious words that were exchanged between Roberto and Keith that very moment, would she have regretted leaving, even despite the fact that it was completely out of her control? Wilfred had become a wordless mime, his disposition even more pastoral than it had previously been, does she not care of his state? He glanced towards the heavens, imploring with the liquid remnants of his amethyst eyes its boundless depths, the unadulterated lucidity of his thoughts invalidating the vehement argument reverberating against the grand walls.

He closed his eyes. _He didn't want to feel. He no longer wanted to suffer. Please, he begged, please let this feeling go away. _

Moonlight acted as an emollient to his knitted brows, and a mocking phantom of a smile brushed the corner of his mouth.

_God was dead, just like he had always been._

He didn't know how long he drowned himself in sorrow, but when he was finally released of his relapse, Prince Roberto and Prince Keith were at each other's throats, their eyes mirroring in unquenched fury. Prince Wilfred, his vibrant gold strands painted sickishly yellow by the limpid chandelier above him sat isolated, occasionally sipping the blood-like beverage in his hand.

"Is that a challenge, Prince Roberto?" he said menacingly, the emerald reminiscent of his irises frighteningly unpleasant. "I'll have you know that your pathetic excuse of a kingdom won't stand a chance Liberty. _**Especially not on the battle field." **_Keith smirked victoriously as Roberto appeared stunned by his proclamation; however, to his consternation, he recovered just as swiftly as he had exhibited his momentary dubiousness,

Laughing contemptuously, Prince Roberto inclined his head as he danced his fingers in the air, a derisive attempt at a friendly salute. He had not been rendered the least bit apprehensive by Keith's threat as he responded, "Perhaps you're still far too young and inexperienced to know that such a subject should not be so carelessly spoken of."

Keith narrowed his eyes. There was an ancient, untamed silence between the two as they stood face to face. Roberto could sense the smothering aura that sparked, and somehow, the tension of it all _enthralled him_; by some mystic force, he _actually wanted to declare war against Liberty. The sheer thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline behind clashing weapons and firing missiles provided him an odd sense of euphoria, a sense of accomplishment that somehow befitted his every forbidden desire. _

Keith's contriteness was manifest in but a faint whisper,

"Then make preparations to reign over hell, Roberto Button, or whatever's left of it."

Roberto smiled, his expression the embodiment of genuine satisfaction. He had done it, he thought. Finally, a decision that he would not regret, one that would become memorable for ages, immeasurable centuries to come. He didn't want glory, in fact, it was perhaps something he had always held a blind eye to; what he truly desired was for everyone to _remember her, remember the beautiful girl who had been ruthlessly killed in the hands of a hateful royal. He wanted, wanted every living soul on the face of this earth to experience his excruciating pain – the pain of losing someone dear, and the pain of knowing that no matter how hard you prayed, they would never, __**never come back.**_

_She would __**be remembered**__. _

He didn't look the other Princes in their eyes as he stomped towards the door, his grip against the elaborate marble involuntarily tight. He took a step into the diffused lighting of the castle corridors, and was just about to announce his departure when he turned, his features arrayed with the utmost serenity,

"_Then until the time of war, my __**dear friend**_**.**"

As soon as he was separated from the rest, Roberto slumped against the corridor walls, his heart thundering in distress as he cradled his head in his arms. _He got what he wanted, he knew now, more certain than anything he'd ever known. _He should be brimming with happiness, should he? _He questioned as he blinked back his tears, the hot liquid blurring his vision; _

_Why did he feel like breaking down?_

_Why did he feel like he had just lost everything?_

_Why was his head throbbing like there's no tomorrow? _

He couldn't supressed his bewildered scream, neither the shattering force in which his fist met the solid granite. Blood spruced mercilessly from his knuckles as small fragments of rock splattered from his hand, scraping his skin in startlingly red trails. His heart felt like it was going to burst his chest open, the pain of his pumping veins paralleling the harsh pulsing of his torn flesh. _What had come over him, why was he behaving in such a manner? Why? _He asked, repeatedly to himself, his solicits made indistinct by his echoing woebegone cries, _why, why, __**why. **_Would bodily pain nullify the spiritual? He didn't await an answer as he continued to pound the walls, the color of his hand merging into one with his crimson jacket…

_**Was it all because of her? **_

His eyes suddenly opened, his tears no longer overflowing as a demonic apparatus overshadowed him completely. Gone went the innocent-hearted crown prince of Altaria, and in its place stood a monster of incomparable malevolence; he grinned, the light that so handsomely embellishing his chocolate brown irises solidified, its sheer blackness coalescing into the night…

_The vial._ He thought contentedly. As the moon descended behind nebulous dark clouds, prince Roberto straightened his back, regality emanating from his every pore as he travelled down the corridors, his head erected high. There was a new spring in his steps, one more steadfast, more rhythmic than anything he had ever heard…

_Lucifer was the most reverenced archangel before his glorious fall from heaven. _

He had just vanished behind a turn when Prince Wilfred emerged from behind a column, his molten sapphire eyes as tranquil as ever. There was no emotion in the way he whispered after Roberto's dissipating warmth, his statement dormant with something indecipherable,

"_His humanity is gone." _

—

"Can you believe him?!" Keith roared, his emerald irises replete with undying wrath as he paced listlessly in the room, occasionally throwing his hands exasperatedly in the air.

All the princes had departed, save for himself and Joshua, the latter still perched near the window, his expression as displaced as it had ever been. He reminded Keith briefly of Prince Edward, and the Libertan prince couldn't help but perplex over why the Levaincois romantic had wordlessly disappeared off the face of the earth. Whereas Edward flaunted his insanity with Shakespearean flamboyancy, Joshua appeared to have internalized whatever he underwent, his heart encasing his every conflict in silent, intangible implosions…Keith didn't know whether to admire Joshua for that particular quality, or to deem him laughable by his inflexible pride,

"Hmm." His breath was barely an audible susurration. Keith narrowed his sharp brows in agitation, his fingers tightening around the transparent stem of his sparkling wine cup. By what had transpired within the past half hour, Prince Joshua should know better than to taunt him, especially during a time when Dres Van would find Liberty's alliance essential, irreplaceable even,

"Prince Joshua, are you listening to me?" he enquired, his forest-green eyes squinting with spite.

"Hmm?" came another one-syllabled response. In comparison, Joshua's tone inclined ever so slightly, one that foretold of an inquiring nature, one that Keith had failed to reconcile amidst his raging accelerando,

He shut his eyes for a second, enclosing the atmosphere with foreboding silence evanescently before he opened them with vigor. "Don't you dare ignore me, Joshua Lieben. I will have you know _that I can declare war over Dres Van just as easily as I did Altaria_."

He had intended his words nothing more than a simple threat, one that would succumb Joshua to his knees and finally, for once show him some respect. Keith knew of his venerable qualities – his boundless knowledge base, his uncanny athletic abilities, his revolutionary ideas of transforming Liberty into the greatest nation the world has ever witnessed; even despite his inferior age, there was a part of him that demanded esteem from the other princes, especially since Liberty had just consumed Oriens in a ruthless overtake-

"Then why don't you?" Keith was rendered immobile. Joshua's voice dripped of manifesting insouciance, as if he didn't give a damn whether or not Dres Van suffered Liberty's wrath, as if the disappearing moon in the tenuous sky was more important than an invitation of war against the most powerful nation in the world-

_Of course not, that scoundrel. _Joshua wasn't nearly stupid enough to ignore such a danger, Keith thought as he gritted his teeth, his fury trembling the crimson liquid within his fingers. He just _didn't care, wasn't even generous enough to provide Keith even a moment of his attention, _

In the next few seconds, Keith's world transcended into a complete blur as he dashed towards Prince Joshua and seized him by the collar, their joined apparatus one strikingly similar to when Prince Roberto had been in the room. However, what differentiated the Dres Vanian Prince to his Altarian counterpart was that he remained emotionally detached, his body flaccid as Keith suspended him by his throat,

"…" Joshua's eyes were hollow, lifeless, as if mystically devoid of any sort of detectible sentient. Keith suddenly felt like crying; he wanted to release his woe, his anguish in a pool of tears that he had repressed since childbirth, but had been deemed too dignified to do so._ Somehow, he actually wanted to be held, just once, by a warm embrace that'd assure him that everything was __**going to be all right.**_

_Was he ever truly angry at anything? Or was anger the vent he used to retaliate __**pain?**_

"Don't be a monster, Alford." Keith's irises shivered as Joshua's punitive nails dug into his palms, the tender skin there already seeping streams of red,

"Not everyone is as blind as you."

He staggered, then revived, his herculean strength ramming Joshua's back against the thin-glassed windows, his distilled white jacket pressing tight against the transparency separating the night. Keith's eyes watered, and he couldn't account his embarrassment; was it due to the drinks he had so redundantly consumed that night, or was it because his heart, his temperament had reached its breaking point, he could no longer discern. All he knew at that moment was that he wanted to kill, _and he didn't care who was on the receiving end._

There was an ancient sadness hovering between the two – one smothering, suffocating, one that was on edge of obliterating all their short lived memories of happiness. Joshua looked at Keith almost pityingly, his violet eyes liquid in appearance before he lowered head, his expression darkened by the concealment of his long lustrous bangs,

He kicked with precision, directly into the center pit of Keith's stomach. The Libertian prince contorted his face by the powerful impact, his arm involuntarily dropping Joshua, who landed gracefully on his two feet. The kaleidoscopic moon bestowed upon him a divine glow, one similar to Zeus before he arranged his chariot of fire down to the mortals to penalize them for opposing the Olympians. His chin was raised condescendingly at Keith, whose breath now became ragged, erratic,

_I don't care, I don't care, _Keith told himself as he advanced Joshua and punched him across his sculptured features, his protruding muscles meeting the Prince's face with an audible crunch. Blood seeped from the corner of Joshua's mouth as he retreated a few steps, scintillas of life finally occupying his eyes,

He laughed, a menacing laugh that reverberated mercilessly through the room; one akin to the wild pronouncement of a grave conspiracy, or the proud announcement of a serial killer. Keith was chilled to the bone, blinking several times when Joshua tackled him to the ground, a ghost of a smile pasted ironically upon his scarred face,

The two tangled, tumbled, beating one another senselessly against the cold marble interior of Nobel Michael castle. Clothes were torn, revealing black and purple bruises that spread like wildfires across their perfect skin; blossoming blood were splattered, their origins no longer recognizable with their fervent engagements. Keith's vision blurred, his corneas dispensing a blurry white shadow as Joshua repeatedly punched him in the crook of his face, the merging taste of salt and iron now prominent upon his tongue distracting him from excruciating agony,

_Why couldn't he fight? _He thought as he received another blow in the chest, one propelling him to choke blood directly on Joshua's marred jacket. _Why? Joshua Lieben wasn't even interested in combat, he had always been a pacifist, wasn't that evident enough? Shouldn't he be the one dying instead?_

_Why? _He didn't know what the liquids that poured from his eyes were, blood or tears, or maybe both. He knew that neither could elevate his pathetic form into some level worthy of salvation, _why? Why? _The pain of Joshua's fists against him were numbing, a truly terrifying rhythm that threatened to throw him into the depths of hell; why? _**Why? **__He begged as he felt a left rob shatter in two, one that inevitably missed his heart by only inches, _

He closed his eyes in anticipation for the blow that would end this torment. Holding his breath, Keith mustered the remaining bits of his strength and whispered ethereally the Libertian national anthem, the majestic words echoing the depths of his soul for perhaps the last time…

Seconds passed, but they droned on with the desolate acoustics of eternity.

He opened his eyes, just enough to see Joshua's feeble attempts to wipe the blood, now turned a revolting shade of brown off of his gardrobe. Sensing Keith's gaze on him, he at once assumed his nonchalant disposition and kneeled down, pulling Keith's head up by his tousled strands. His gesture wasn't at all painful, but the desultory nature of it all was extremely _**extremely humiliating, **_

Joshua enunciated his every word with disdainful lucidity, as if he was speaking to an illiterate child,

"Dres Van will join Altaria on the war front." He sneered and affixed his crystallized amethyst gaze into his green ones, ones ridden of any sign of vivaciousness, "I can't imagine what will come of the world if Liberty indeed becomes the next great superpower."

He released his fingers, causing Keith's head to bang, hard and audibly on the ground. Diminishing footsteps followed, and soon Joshua's existence was removed from the interior of the castle. Gradually, Keith's breathing resumed some of its previous potency, the soaring blood pulsating in his body igniting his diminutive fire once more.

The nerves in his head thundered with resolution. Keith smiled, the grin on his almost visceral face corroborating with the idle tear that slid down his cheek, _one that would forever be his last._

"You'll regret this, Lieben."

—

_Tap. Tap._

_Tap. Tap. _

The allegro of the fall rain beating against his glass, Prince Wilfred stared boorishly at the glistening messages of his TV screen. The sky had darkened, the looming black clouds obstructing his view of the ebullient blue of a Philipean autumn, one that he so typically looked forward to every year in the dreary castle – it was a sort of testimony against his imprisonment, a sense of lingering hope that perhaps, beyond the gates, he too could experience the ecstasy of freedom.

The winds clashed against the falling waters, their malperformed symphony becoming unbearably loud by the second. He lifted his finger to the remote across his desk, and pressed until the voice of the national news reporter drowned out nature's miserable cries,

"_A terrible tragedy has just befallen Charles Kingdom. We've received reports on the inactivity of Prince Edward for the previous several ceremonies and summits at Nobel Michael castle. Speculators have hypothesized that perhaps the fate of the Oriens royal family was contagious, and that Prince Edward himself had also left this world in a fit of rage. What changes would this revelation present to the world's blueprints? Will the prehistoric Pangaea now modernize into an empire of Liberty kingdom?"_

"_According to anonymous sources, a figure that looked strikingly alike to our own Charles Prince was spotted in a local petting zoo just two days previous. The mysterious figure was completely naked, and appeared to have been imitating several chimpanzees in their eating, drinking and mating habits. The appalling man had been attained three hours after his discovery to minimize the negative cultural impact he may have on residents. We've also received inside information that Prince Edward's personal steward, Louis was also seen at said petting zoo, wiping away tears with a rose-embroidered handkerchief. Unfortunately, he had vanished moments after the doppelganger's arrest;" _

"_Could this man really be our charming prince himself? Investigators are as we speak paying visits to the asylum where he dwells to further ascertain the-_

Prince Wilfred leaned back into his soft leather cushions, his eyes closed determinedly against his muted black screen. Lightning flashed across the barren grey skies, illuminating mystically half of his office, dramatically abandoning the other portion in impending darkness, adjourning the golden-haired prince impeccably between the two in a precise chiaroscuro,

The storm rumbled with feral dynamism, one that consumed, derailed the quiescence of Chateau Philip.


	6. Chapter 6

Her Death Continued - Pandemonium (Roberto's Arc )

Author's note. just kill me. everyone kill me. throw tomatoes at me. i welcome you.

dunno if i can make it through joshua and wilfred's arc.

if this makes no sense please refer to Pandemonium PtI for details

—-

**Segment 4**

The plaintive boundlessness of the perished landscape towered over Roberto's vision, its bleak yellowness paining the horizon a dissipation of opaque linings, as if it extended to the very end of the world, and into the cosmos beyond. The cascading heat waves conflated as they swirled with the sands of the broad desert, recalling the destruction of vegetation that occurred centuries prior. An artistry of an ingenious demonic master, the remains of large rubble fragments erected idly against the shifting winds, their solemnity made more apparent with their irregular visuals.

He was positioned in a desert, a significant milestone between the Kingdoms Altaria and Liberty. This particular location separated their boundaries – war always commenced in a similar fashion: their armies would reign triumphant at the front, and from there they would peregrinate into foreign territory opened by the defeated nation. Resistance by the conquered was considered futile, as the six kingdoms were even in military power, and a quarrel between any given two would often end up with diminished troops but equal shame. _Therefore…_

_This is it, _Roberto thought with soaring spirit and a venomous taste in his mouth. Behind him stood a sea of Altarian soldiers, each more eager than the other to contribute their meaningless deaths for the advance of the kingdom. _What egotistical fools_, the prince thought as he stole a glance back towards their elated expressions, _their only advantage is their numbers._

_He needed to win, he now knew more certainly than anything. _His pride, the foundations of his kingdom, not to mention the future stance of his name depended solely on this one battle: for if Liberty did indeed reign triumphant, he would be rendered utterly powerless, overshadowed by the prevailing empire established by none other than his nemesis, Prince Keith Alford. _Only one may survive while the other perishes, _and Roberto certainly wasn't capitulating without a satisfying resolution;

What surprised him was Prince Joshua's sudden decision to join him on the battlefield; with Dres Van's many years of military experience and their progressive strategies in warfare, Altaria would be put at a definite benefit against Liberty. However, Roberto couldn't shake an enduring sense of unease at the back of his cerebrum – Prince Joshua had informed him that his participation in the raid against Liberty was solely due to his personal vendetta against Prince Keith, so if the situation shall demand it, the Dres Vanian forces shall retire without a second's deliberation,

In other words, the moment the tide turns in Keith's favor, Joshua shall abandon him entirely.

Roberto shook his head in mock disappointment, the heavy sapphires on his neck pressing into the softness of his skin. From some inexplicable peccadillo that day, he extracted his mother's necklace from the depths of its dusted chest, and somehow decided to wear it during the time of war. He laughed briefly, the faint sound escaping his lips muffled by the roaring desert winds. The ornament itself was originally designated towards whomever his beloved fiancée, and later wife may be; and how many times had he imagined that _she_ would be the one to wear it?

He knew the answer to that: countless, immeasurable solicits to the heavens begging for her heart, for her elegant gaze to linger upon him just a second longer. He had been so earnest, so blissfully, obliviously earnest that he even failed to anticipate that she would soon be betrothed to another. The sand fortresses around him crumpled, vacated as a ferocious tempest descended upon his troops, propelling them to unanimously cover their eyes, mouths,

However, the Altarian Prince took the opportunity and released a deep, diabolic string of laughter. There was a demonic glint in his chocolate brown eyes, made a lustful maroon by the diaphanous filters of the morning sun.

"Mother" he mouthed, his expression unchanged by the violent sandstorm obscuring his vision,

"_You're all I have left."_

"Prince Roberto!" he swiftly turned around to greet the Dres Vanian Prince, whose entire face was masked with thick winter scarves and, _god forbid, _swimming goggles. The sight of him was beyond ridiculous, and despite Roberto's thundering heart, he couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at Joshua's idiotic appearance. Behind him stocked a sea of indecipherable metal, and only when Roberto squinted his eyes painfully amidst the flying sand did he recognize the colossal numbers of soldiers, each endorsing a plethora of machine guns. Some even bore canons, their expressions portentous as they desperately attempted to balance the weapon on their shoulders. As much as Roberto despised the notion, he had to admit, albeit begrudgingly that Prince Joshua's troops were indeed superior to his own, evidently in more than a singular aspect.

"It's an honor to have Dres Van's crown prince to join me in battle." He bowed his head in a never before seen angle, his eyes closed in reverence. "Your alliance is appreciated profusely, Prince Joshua."

Joshua suspiciously eyed the Altarian prince's prominent angle. Ever since _her_ death, he had been completely out of it, and his personality took on a more…unpleasant turn. Truth be told, although his typically cheerful disposition irritated Joshua at times, he had been willing to condone his anomalies. The Roberto before him now appeared extraneous, _unpredictable_, as if the makings of his soul had metamorphosed overnight it the paragon of majesty itself; _no wonder the Altarian armies would defy their king to serve their prince._

"You can thank me after we terminate the Alfords." Distrustful amethyst ephemerally boring into solid brown, he continued, "Though, Prince Roberto, I am impressed that you managed to persuade your father into handing over the Altarian military seal. I thought only reigning kings were able to wield its power."

"It must be an unprecedented phenomenon for it to be in the hands of a prince." Roberto smiled, the wicked curvature of his lips gravely stunning Joshua. There had been something pugnacious in the way Roberto enunciated his next words, his grotesque missive accelerating the wild cacophony of Joshua's heart.

"That's because you're looking at not the crown prince, _**but the Altarian King himself.**__"_

There was an ancient, distilled silence between the two as they stood face to face. Seconds drone as if centuries, and the celestials must had underwent drastic revolutions before Joshua responded, his voice weak, powerless, utterly voice of princely stateliness.

"_**You killed him.**_**" **

Roberto softly closed his eyes, the roaring desert wind dissipating from his surroundings as the memories of that horrid day resurfaced once more. He had readily acknowledged, from the moment he returned from Nobel Michael castle that his benevolent father would never consent to his ordeal. To fuel his irrational desire for war would go against everything the king represented for the past three decades, and if Roberto conquered ignorance with only knowledge of his father, he knew that he wouldn't provide Roberto with the national seal, _not over his dead body._

He recalled the uncannily dulcet voice he assembled that day, and the repugnant smile pasted mercilessly across his features as he addressed his dear father. Recent amendments of Altarian public accords had dominated the King's schedule, propelling him to work nightlessly in order to ensure that they're altered justly. Feigning wariness, Prince Roberto had invited him to taste the vintage wine he retrieved from the cellars, and he had agreed, stretching the fine material of his robes languidly in the air. Footsteps were mute did they proceed to the dining hall, and when Roberto finally opened the bottle, he poured the shadowy contents of his concealed vial within the crystalline maroon liquid.

He had washed his gaze over his beloved father one last time. Much to his own astonishment, he experienced no guilt, nor any sense of disgrace and contriteness towards murdering his parent; but instead harbored a sense of euphoria, of an intense expectancy that manifested uncontrollably when they clinked their glasses together. His lips gently touched the cold, senseless crystal, his profound gaze concentrated unwaveringly upon his father as he gulped down the wine.

Roberto's heart thundered caliginously. He held his breath, and his sharp brows had narrowed in annoyance when nothing had happened within the first few moments, when he had devised many, many excuses to his father's enquiries. He was so certain that the poison would do its trick fast, so he couldn't exactly comprehend why it didn't affect him sooner…

He recalled the relief that soared through his veins when the king pathetically clutched his neck within his fingers, the strength he had employed reddening his aged skin. Roberto laughed, his voice booming as he rose victoriously out of his seat, his eyes condescendingly glaring down to his father's flaccid body. The tender brown of his eyes augmented, like lucid orbs washed ashore after a vehement, monstrous storm – they twinkled, as if crystallizing the last few scintillas of life left within his crumpling soul.

His accusatory finger barely lifted midway before it dropped, inertly to the ground. Two breaths reduced to one, Roberto sighed, sluggishly taking out the incandescent vial from the depths of his sleeves and tossed it upon his father's dead body, at last establishing the image of _mortality against mortem._

"_Goodbye, old man." He had said._

"Yeah, that's exactly what I did."

Prince Joshua stifled the horror that bubbled within his mouth. Witnessing Roberto's casual survey of his troops and nonchalant questions of war, for the first time in his life, he felt _disgusted. _Disgusted at the manner in which the Altarian King polluted the sandy air around him, but more repulsed with himself for impetuously agreeing to ally with such an immoral monster. Even if he desired to forfeit the battle, he couldn't; for within the ceaseless edges of the horizons emerged a vindictive sea of green, an oasis of the most abysmal destruction.

Wild winds dominating, Prince Roberto and Joshua squinted in unison, the former raising his hand to shield his eyes from the blistering sand. The arrival of the Alford troops elicited a furious tornado, one that blew the princes' robes into the open air, its force trembling their legs.

A bright emerald flash ignited the looming grey skies, its incandescent trail distorted unpleasantly the dissonance of the southern desert wind. Both princes gritted their teeth, for years of royal upbringing gave them perfect information to what the signal represented. _There's no time like now._

_Let hell's regime, pandemonium, commence._

Swearing under his breath, Roberto signalled with his hands, and barely a millisecond passed before the massive ocean of Altarian forces rushed before his eyes, their erected guns and pointed missiles greeting the Libertain army in magnificent encounter.

Prince Joshua hesitated. _What was he doing there, he thought with malice; _silently watching, Joshua's insides clenched as men plummeted like stingless puppets to the ground, their devastating motion further marred by senseless scars of crimson that instantly adorned their ripped armors. The voice of bombs, ones that protested against the gruesome undertakings of humanity resonated powerfully within his ears, threatening to shatter his eardrums any second now. He gulped – fire, balls of fiery orange, pastiches controlled by the malicious will of the devil himself danced through the sand without any indication of restraint. One by one, the soldiers dropped, thrown back by the impact of Liberty's weapons, their breathing carcasses blooming into delicate flowers of lethal beauty.

Rock, metal, limbs exploded in place – murderous lotuses outshining the comeliness of effeminate Persephone. Contrasting light danced against the splattering skin, their visceralness filtered by the blinding waves of veiling sand.

Blood splashed on Joshua's sharp cheekbones, and yet, he couldn't accumulate the strength to wipe its hot trail off his skin.

The scene before him merged into a glorious, murderous sunset. As if the graves of twilight itself, the wistful scene forebode sorrow, a sorrow that weighed heavily upon Joshua's trembling shoulders. He grieved, for they were but hundreds of meters apart, and yet such a miniscule displacement separated them from bliss to annihilation; however, what choked his throat were not the sights of inconceivable dread, but the aberrantly perplexing numbers that went down:

He performed a quick calculation in his head, and widened his amethyst eyes in horror as he addressed Roberto, who watched the battle commence with intent concentration.

"Prince Roberto, how many soldiers have you brought?" Joshua's gaze washed over the combatting forces, and couldn't help but relax in gratitude that his own men weren't demolished as frequently as the Altarians.

Roberto diverted his eyes fleetingly before responding. "Twenty thousand."

_No. _Joshua pointed towards the falling soldiers, his finger and his voice simultaneously trembling in inexpressible dread.

"_There are no more than several hundred Libertian soldiers on the field."_

Roberto's body congealed at Joshua's statement. He too noticed moments ago, but had decided his vision fallible due to his unique location. Stepping forward, he arched his back and contemplated the Dres Vanian prince's words, merely moments before his heart stilled within his chest.

_He was right. Roberto couldn't see more than a dozen Libertian soldiers. His men went down like trampled flowers, and yet Keith's troops stood as they fired across isolated rocks, appearing almost unharmed by Altaria's weapons._

"That bastard." He clenched his fists, ignoring the searing pain of his nails ripping apart his delicate palms. _A quarter of his men down within the first five minutes…_

His malicious prayers were interrupted with the sound of a nearing horn, one that alarmingly turned his head towards its origins. With a questioning glare, he stared at Prince Joshua, the latter's posture impressively straight despite the faltering winds. There had been a second of surreptitious silence, followed by a splendid crack of white light flashing across the skies, painting the portrait of barren yellow with an inspirational splash of divine quiescence.

Prince Roberto could not immediately comprehend the implications of his actions. However, within the next minute, the Dres Van army had retreated in entirety from the field, abandoning Altaria in a brutal battle against prestigious Liberty. Drawing his men in as if he emanated his own gravitational field, Prince Joshua turned apologetically to Roberto, his voice deplete of all kindness as he said,

"_Best of luck, your majesty."_

He pitifully reached his hand out, a worthless attempt at interjecting Joshua's vanishing penumbras. With moieties of iridescent tears trailing down his dirtied cheeks, Roberto succumbed to his knees, his woebegone cries drowned inaudible by the reverberating bombs and missiles firing in the distance. _He cried. He didn't remember how long it had been since he truly shed tears of agony; but now, all of those bottled up emotions flew from him akin to a year's worth of deprived rain._

Several things happened at once.

Bodies blew past him, their blood spraying unpityingly upon his wardrobe. An exultant roar echoed within his ears, one that he ascertained with absolute certainty wasn't his own…the racing airs cleared, unearthing the skies of brilliant blue he knew sufficed his failure. _That was it._

Turning his head painfully around, he witnessed a realm of nebulous grey smoke in a remarkable diaspora. There, lay the lifeless remains of his men, blood still seeping from their every opening as the malevolent feet of Prince Keith Alford stomped over them, the rhythmic allegro of his heels cushioned by the sand. Tears blurring his vision, Roberto didn't incline his head when Keith approached him, but instead wailed, the sorrow and shame overwhelming his heart no longer sneered by boundaries of dignity.

_Snap. _

"Seize him."

Arms suspended, Prince Roberto was painfully dragged back upon his feet, his drooped head still perpetuating his defeat. The claws of Keith's men dug into his wrists, reddening them immediately with obscured veins, halted blood. He didn't care that his fingers went numb, neither did he respond when Keith wrathfully repeated his name, swearing for him to look him in the eye. Finally did the Libertian prince run out of patience,

Grabbing Roberto by his shrivelled brown strands, Keith hauled his head up, and was just about the open his mouth when he noticed the immutable hollowness that entwined Roberto's gaze. Suddenly aghast, Keith bit into his bottom lip, his vile stream of insults convincing him of his worthlessness appearing cruel and unruly. _All was lost for him. _Roberto's lips were dried and cracked, his capillaries ripped apart and bleeding noticeably against his filmy skin; he didn't blink, not for the entire time Keith had adjourned him by his hair.

He just stared. Almost as if he gained access to the dimensions beyond – a distant universe of heavenly bliss.

Sighing, Prince Keith released his hair, and combed his scarred fingers absently through his own. The bleakness of the desert sands once again returned, capturing the sky in its austerity, one that corroborated with its decrepit afternoon acoustics. Suffused with exasperation, he bellowed towards his troops, his masculine tenor proclaiming the success of his conquest:

"Proceed to Altaria's borders!"

His company roared, and precipitously, Roberto immersed himself in darkness.

**Segment 5**

"Your Highness."

Luke bowed with practiced perfection, praying heatedly within his mind that his bangs concealed the beads of perspiration embellished on his forehead. He, for one had not recognized Keith's actions as commendable; however, as his faithful butler, he had oathed long ago that he would provide unconditional support and regard towards his master. _If he had known then, _he thought with spite, _he should have sought employment in the Spencer castle instead._

"At your command, we've conducted a thorough inspection of the Button castle, and we've recovered all documents relevant to their government dynamisms." Without meeting Keith's emerald eyes, Lute softly pushed the stack of documents across the opulent marble desk, to which the Alford Prince scanned briefly with raised brows and nodded satisfactorily.

"Good."

Without witnessing Luke's departure, Keith shuffled the large leather chair toward the open window, and permitted the languorous Altarian sun to swim across his features. In Liberty, he seldom observed any sunshine, for his land had been needlessly coated with blankets of snow, ones that were imperishable even throughout the hottest summer days. He had always dreamed, even when he was a child of one day ruling over the tropics. Now thanks to Roberto's idiotic endeavor, his dream had finally manifested into reality.

He was seated in Roberto's office. Despite his hatred for the excessively enthusiastic prince, he couldn't help but relish in his impeccable taste in interior design. As opposed to the more obviously lavish furnishings of Liberty castle, Altarian manse exhibited…more sunny undertones, ones that perhaps mirrored their consistent state of happiness. The beige, gold and brown reminded him oddly of the prince himself – the always messy brown hair of his annoying former ally, the equally brown eyes that would tear up in the most comical manner over the most trivial incidents. The meetings, the summits at Nobel Michael, where he would constantly pester Keith by contradicting his every speech, turning every political discussion into lively banters of friendly insults…

His heart felt…heavier, somehow. Keith blinked, his eyes assuming a liquid form of green, one akin to forests leaves after a night's worth of rain. Still fresh from due, their sparkling tips swaying evanescently in the wind, accompanied by the petrichors of morning.

The air traversing through the window artistically muffled his hair, brushing his gossamers upon his cheeks in a cadenced caress…

He knew of his convictions – in order to rule as royalty, one must sacrifice pity and empathy, as those superfluous emotions would inevitably hinder his reason. The notion was intricately woven within his conscience. It was the way he lived, the way he managed to cope with this cruel, merciless world. It not only defined him, _he became it._

_He could let __**nothing**__ change that._

Shaking his head, he resumed to the documents before his desk, and surveyed the dreary room before him for a pen, or anything to write with. Unsuccessful, he reached out towards the closest drawer to his fingertips, his distracted mind encumbering him from the strident impact of the sight he uncovered.

"This is…"

He picked up the foreign object and dangled it within the light, allowing the radiant rays to reflect against its delicate, sparkling surfaces. He shook it, and the petite bells emanated an enchanting sound, similar to a fairy's song as they carolled within the woods…

Attached to the bracelet were several charms carved clumsily in gold, their simple lettering staining Keith's unsteady heart.

_Friends forever._

He knew of its origins, Prince Roberto had, months ago, gleefully flaunted the idle piece of jewelry before all the princes, claiming it as a testimony of his everlasting friendship with her. Keith recalled the way he had snorted to Roberto's pearlescent smile, as if he had been elevated to indescribable happiness; _friendzoned for life, what's there to be proud of?_

_R.B…S.A. _Their initials were joined with tiny gold leaves, incomplete leaves with barely visible stems that dangled like thread, complimenting the piece of jewelry with an otherworldly, _bewitching aura. _

However. Its existence was a predicament to Keith, the very factor that stood in striking opposition to everything he had ever believed in. _The untainted genuinity of emotion, the sacred bond of one heart joining another; the refined friendships that clasped together, condensed the glorious essences of humanity…_

Wasn't that what he always desired but could never attain?

Had he not wasted nights and nights during childhood, praying to a nonexistent god for this very bond with another?

Before he had become the very epitome of arrogance itself, didn't he too, want a friend whom he would confide everything to?

_Was he ever __**loved**__ like Roberto was?_

…

The tears that escape his eyes were cold, akin to the icy chrysalis that he so agonisingly encompassed around his heart after all this time. He didn't move, and didn't reopen his eyes as he allowed them to fall, silently breaking the promise he made just weeks before not to cry, not ever again within that lifetime.

He flicked his fingers, and the friendship bracelet launched from his fingers, the vibrant metal arching through the air with enthralling motion. Almost as if time had relapsed, the room slowed, and the cynosure of the universe inevitably concentrated on the glowing bracelet, one that lingered gracefully, just a moment longer within the air before disappearing out the window.

Blinking, he returned to his papers, his sentient evaporating as swiftly as it came.

**Section 6**

_Sunsets are redeeming. _

_Why, you ask?_

_Because through death, we're restored, restored to a time when we consisted of nothing but innocence, nothing but wishes, hopes, faith fostered for the betterment of the world. Maturity taints us, just as the afternoon sun threatens to take away our breaths, age taunts our purity, and we soon become powerless to the turbulence, the turmoil that we equate with life. As our experience solidify, as our persons become one with our ideals, time unpityingly catches up with our slowing footsteps – no matter how desperately we try to race against twilight, our efforts are rendered forever fruitless. For time, is but an artificial quantity we establish, an elusive theory to convince us that we have supreme control over the unfamiliar universe. Time is but a meaningless number that ticks beyond death, beyond the end of everything. When the universe ignites its end in a brilliant explosion, time, and time alone shall be the only thing that remains._

_Through death, our experiences fade to nothing, our thoughts, feelings, knowledge, everything we own are nullified. Some ask why we strive – isn't every bead of blood and sweat we contribute for the sake of 'betterment', merely constructing profligate coffins for when we rot down back to bone? What is valid, and what is real? Is there anything truly tangible, anything that we disseminate with the silence of our deaths? _

…

_Aren't sunsets blandiloquent? _

_Roberto could no longer discern, no longer discern anything._

He staggered down the filthy streets, clutching feebly at his bleeding sides, his princely demeanor no more. Raising his head with herculean difficulty, he spotted a corner, one that faced a hustling street where people miraculously passed.

Lurching up, he was suddenly knocked off balance, his bruised face crumpling against the dirty, muddy granite, his torn clothes made more hideous than ever.

He knew not of his surroundings. It had been days, days since he had received any sort of proper nourishment. He had sold every valuable item on him, traded them for food, shelter, anything that would ensure his survival in this heartless, isolated dimension. By now, he was penniless, the only thing more worthless than his nauseating attire was his fragmented dignity, his forsaken pride. Everything, everything reminiscent of his precious life was gone, everything save for his mother's necklace, the beatific article that he concealed within his wrinkled collars. _It was all that was left to keep him going…_

For once, he wanted to see Alberto. Although a pest, his strict butler had been his savior on countless occasions; in fact, Roberto would have been long gone if Al hadn't implanted that blessed chip. He actually missed his scolding, missed the way he would chase him dramatically across meadows with an oversized butterfly net…in a way, Alberto was like family to him, for he provided the parental warmth Roberto never formally received from the king himself.

Upon learning the atrocious actions of his master, Alberto had left, left mutely from the castle without any sort of goodbye. At the time, Roberto had not felt remorse, but instead eschewed anything that reminded him of his tutor, his dearest friend. He was the elixir to Roberto's sea of bitterness, the only person that made him feel like, even for the briefest of moments that he was no longer alone, that someone was truly, unconditionally there for him.

His breathing clotted by the blood flowing from his nose, Roberto smiled, his teeth mixed with dark red and ash. It wasn't an elated smile, nor one of sorrow, nor irony, but one of indescribable regret, a wordless beseech towards the heavens, towards the empty castles about the ominous clouds.

_When did all this start?_

He knew the answer to that – he had changed, changed since the moment he arrived at that cursed hospital, the moment he witnessed her lifeless features and bandaged chest. Ever since then he had lost himself, drowning in his repressed feelings of abandonment, discarded his halcyon personality for one less painful, one less burdensome. He had thought that cruelty invalidated pain, perished sorrow, and if that was the price to eternal numbness, he would gladly embrace it…

His fingers wandered, and a sudden light, metal ring travelled to his ears, the now incredibly familiar sensation enlightening his heart. He knew what it was – a pathetic cruz, one of such insignificant value, one that he would have dismissed without a second's deliberation as former crown prince of Altaria. However, now, that small, colorless coin became the security of his life, the heavenly gift that would help him live a couple more days…

He was about to drop the coin in his pocket when someone stepped on his arm, the hard sole of his heel on the verge of shattering Roberto's bone. Fingers, fingers that haven't been trimmed properly for days pried his own, wrestling the cruz coin from him with ease.

"Hey! Look what I found!" Erratic footsteps approaching, Roberto's weak adrenaline propelled him to raise his arm in an attempt to crawl away from the street thugs; however, much to his dismay, the first one kicked him dying figure hard, flat across the stomach, collapsing him against the rancid ally walls.

He tumbled, the pain now eerily familiar as he landed, the sparkling sapphires glistening in protest against his chest. Somehow, just somehow, he saw his mother, her amorphous form stylishly extending her arms to shield him from his attackers…

"_mother." _he whispered.

The savage widened his eyes, and beckoned with his uneven hand for his companions to come. "Look! This beggar over here is wearing a precious necklace! Can you believe our luck?!"

**No. No. This wasn't happening.**

Roberto scrupulously turned to his side, desperate to hide his necklace from their leering eyes. He wouldn't budge, not even when all three of them started to kick him repeatedly in the back, not even when one of their toes cracked the edge of his spine. He clutched on to the pelagic sapphires as the thugs beleaguered him, the tears escaping his eyes no longer sensible, no longer _relevant…_

"Get the bat, the fucker's not giving it up."

Sensing them gone, rendering his foudroyant necklace safe from harm's way, Roberto's heart soared with felicity. Balancing himself on his bloodied knuckles, he had just crawled inches before they returned, one of their shadows extending longer then customary…

"…"

Excruciating pain bestowed on the back of his head, he could feel his skull cracking into a myriad of fragments, each bone protruding against the tissues of his mind;

"…"

Came another.

"…"

Another.

Red, efflorescent red roses inspissated his vision, imbuing his gaze in place as he fell, lifelessly to the ground. Through his diminishing senses, he barely made out the liquids that spilled over his neck, the sensation impish, tickling as they made their gruesome descent…

Skin unclasping the silver knots, his necklace was dragged, almost lithely off the emaciated curvature of his neck. _No, he begged. Please, don't let this happen. _He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, and in the place of words dispensed blood, the last relics of the royal Button house of Altaria. _No, he cried, unaware of whether or not tears absconded down his features; _

_Please, __**don't take her away from me. She's all that I have left…**_

Powerless, Roberto watched their vanishing boots as they turned at the end of the ally, laughter brewing in result of possibly their most invaluable conquest. Little did they know that the just encountered none other than the prince himself, and what lay within their ignorant hands was the most valuable possession of the late queen…

Darkness, darkness brimmed his lids. The pain, the blood, the fetid, insensible smell of flesh…

_Perhaps it is through death that he atones for the crimes he committed – cold-bloodedly murdering his father, mindlessly slaughtering his people, and for a fleeting second there, condemning her for his ultimate peril. All of this, all of his sufferings were caused by his demons, the demons that his people reverenced as a charming royal._

_It had been his own fault, and nobody else's. _

As he gently lapsed into death, his mother's last words resounded at his ears, her warm breath taunting, her euphonious voice scrunching his every nerve into the depths of oblivion…

"_No matter where you end up, my dear child. I shall always love you."_

He knew he wouldn't see his mother, for she resided in heaven,

And he in hell.

.


	7. Chapter 7

**Her Death** ** Continued – Aqua Blue (Joshua's Arc)**

- As the name implies, this piece deals with the struggles prince Joshua and his troops in the desert. When he deserted Roberto, he made the wrong turn and ended up nowhere.

- He had no idea where he was going, and there was no signal of course, so they wandered days without food, and sooner or later most of his men had died out of thirst if not hunger.

- Watching all before him die, he starts to implore why all this chaos had commenced. He knew it was because of her, but he refused to believe that such an insignificant woman had literally descended hell on earth.

- He held his hand into the sun and watched its rays filter through his transparent skin. There was a brief moment of silence,

- Water, that was why he existed. He walks, he crawls, he starts to hallucinate about water, and eventually he sees an oasis amidst everything. He had been so happy, and he nearly used all his strength to scoop up a handful of water to his lips…

- It was dry and muffled against him, the water tasted like sand. He couldn't believe it. He did again, but instead choked on the supposedly crystalline liquid. Coughing, he buried his head in the desert sand, his last breath hovering ethereally about his lips…

- Scene switch, Joshua's staring at the wall in Dres Van castle, and Jan and his psychiatrist are talking about further treatments. (he's become _**a schizophrenic**_)

- Joshua's faced with the possibility of never recovering, and Jan through his tears phones Prince Leonardo to commence the plan they had once formulated to overthrow the Lieben family. He cries, the first time he had for the past two decades, and Prince Leonardo reluctantly agrees to meet him.

- The two discuss briefly at Dres Van castle, Leonardo sees Joshua's blank eyes, and couldn't help but sigh heavily. He walks over and takes Joshua's hands, and for a moment he just stares, like that's his sole route towards salvation. Moments later he slaps Joshua across the face, tears streaming from his eyes as he laments how Joshua changed him as a person, and yet he had reversed back to a worthless infant. Jan tries to hold Leonardo back, but he shrugs him off and screams uncontrollably, insulting Joshua's weakness. He had exhausted his voice before he finally succumbed to his knees, and taking one last look at Joshua, he whispers breathlessly to Jan that he'll agree to take over Dres Van, and if there's any way to preserve the Lieben bloodline.

- Jan slowly shakes his head. Exasperated, Leonardo leaves, and Jan breaks down once more. After his tears dry, he asks Joshua, "_I hope that wherever you are, you're happy." _To his surprise, Joshua finally looks at him and smiles, the serenity of his smile utterly stunning

- Jan holds the emotionless Joshua in his arms before whispering, "_Forgive me, Your Highness. Life needs to go on."_


	8. Chapter 8

**Her Death** ** Final – 50 Years of Peace (Keith's Arc)**

- Keith on his deathbed, narrating his story to his grandson, Kevin Alford.

- The world has transformed.

- Six kingdoms had been merged into one, all under the rule of the prestigious Alfords. The Nermans, after consuming Dres Van underwent an inner rebellion, once that threw Leonardo off the throne. Amidst the chaos, Keith interjected and took over the kingdom, rendering its people completely powerless. The Philipeans lost their crown prince, and the king and queen, under a fit of fury brought Stephen back on the throne. He ruled like a madman, bringing his country incredible turmoil. Keith couldn't stand the rising poverty and crime rates, so he, after negotiating with Stephen took Philip under his wing.

- Charles kingdom finally accepted Prince Edward's insanity, and seeing Keith as the most prominent political figure in the world, the Levanicois house presented him with their nation on a silver platter. Keith at first declined, for he doubted that he could sustain such immense responsibility at such a tender age, but later reality caught up to him, and he realized if he didn't rule, then nobody would.

- He started to devote all his time into becoming a righteous ruler, one that would bring the world unsurpassed prosperity. He started to neglect his family, so he didn't know when Cathy's illness got worse.

- When he first heard of the dreadful news, she had already died three days prior. His schedule became so demanding that he couldn't even attend her funeral. On that very day, Luke entered his office, and asked if Keith if he was really that heartless to miss his own sister's service. Keith didn't reply, and in a fit of rage Luke poured the tea he held on him, and flinched when Keith stared unmoving at him. _"Thank you", _the king had said.

- Luke narrowed his eyes before he slammed his resignation letter on Keith's desk.

- Keith was alone.

- Alone in the entire world. By this point in his narrative Kevin's horrified, and he enquires why all this has happened. To his horror, his grandfather starts to choke up blood, and he was just about to call a servant when Keith stopped him.

- With a sad smile about his face, he told him of _her, the perpetrator behind the string of tragedies that befell the world. _

- _"But why, why can a single girl have such immense impact?"_

- _Keith coughs, "Because I loved her. Because Roberto, that cheeky, insolent man loved her. Because Glenn loved her, ha, the kid couldn't even look at her without blushing. But none of us could have her, because she belonged to that damned Philipean prince."_

- _For to be wise and love, exceeds man's might. _Keith dies moments after, his hand dropping flaccidly to his side.

- …

- Days before his funeral, Kevin discovers a stack of thank you letters addressed to Keith, ones he'd cared to open. Curious, he opens a few, and realizes in horror what they were:

- _Forty years ago, donations to Edward's asylum, urging them to improve their services towards patients. Thirty-eight years ago, funds issued towards his former butler Luke, when his legs were amputated from a car accident. Thirty-five years ago, personal savings attributed to the national budget, the section that dictated over social services and equalization; thirty-one years ago, for building hundreds of orphanages across the nation; twenty-five years ago, for providing grants in the names of the previous generation of royals, establishing scholarships and academic awards in honor of their accomplishments…_

- _The list went on. _Kevin's tears batted against the ashen parchment. He had no idea…

- As he uncovers more letters, he realizes in awe that the bottom of the chest was filled with crumpled sheets of paper. He uncovers them, and this time, he couldn't stop his pained screams…

- All of them were of the same content. Written over and over again, in his grandfather's elegant handwriting had been the same, the same line…

_"Forgive my sins, my dearest friends. Please, please forgive me."_


End file.
